


Fired Up My Daddy's Lighter

by anaraine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean receives his first lighter when he turns twelve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fired Up My Daddy's Lighter

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a five things story for [](http://theaviary.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**theaviary**](http://theaviary.dreamwidth.org/) , so I dug through my stash of [](http://spn-bitesized.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**spn_bitesized**](http://spn-bitesized.dreamwidth.org/) prompts and got to writing. This doesn't _quite_ follow [](http://crimsontoad.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**crimsontoad**](http://crimsontoad.dreamwidth.org/)'s [prompt](http://spn-bitesized.dreamwidth.org/77211.html?thread=1597083#cmt1597083), but I think it's close enough: The fate of 5 metal lighters Dean drops during salt 'n burns.

Dean receives his first lighter when he turns twelve. He looks up at his father questioningly after unwrapping it, thankful for the present (he hadn't been expecting one, not really), but not understanding.

"You need your own lighter, son," John says, smiling wryly and ruffling his hair. "Don't let Sammy play with it. The rules for lighters still apply, but this one is for you to hold on to."

Dean looks back down at the lighter, rubbing his thumb across the shiny metal. It fits a little awkwardly in his hands, but he likes the heavy weight of it better than the plastic BICs he's used before.

"Thanks, dad," Dean whispers, and thinks about giving him a hug. They don't do that much anymore —he's not some _kid_ — but he kind of wants to. He misses his chance though, as his father goes to the bathroom to clean up before he goes to bed.

Dean tucks the lighter into his duffle bag and then sneaks back into the bed he's sharing with Sammy. His brother grumbles when he accidentally lets some cold air under the covers, scooting closer before he even gets settled. Dean falls asleep with his dorky little brother's head under his chin, but he can forgive it. Just this once.

**◊◊◊**

For the record, Dean _does not cry_ when he looses his first lighter. He does not spend a good week looking for it, trying to backtrack his steps and figure out where he must have dropped it. He doesn't swear that he'll always remember to darn the stupid holes in his godforsaken jeans if he could just find his lighter.

He does give up when he's told they're moving to Kentucky. He packs up his duffle and loads up his share of the weaponry into the hidden compartment in the Impala. Then he runs his ass down to the shadier liquor store and hopes that the clerk at the register is the one who always smells like stale pot smoke. If it is, he _might_ be able to get away with buying 'cigarette paraphernalia' even though he's too gangly to pass for eighteen.

Dean scopes out the store, picking up a bag of M&Ms and a large bottle of Coke before heading to the register. He tries his best to act nonchalant as he pulls one of the cheap ass metal lighters from the plastic display, tossing it onto the counter like it's an afterthought.

The clerk doesn't bat an eyelash, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief only when he's out the door and on the way back to the motel.

**◊◊◊**

Dean's survives on cheap, disposable lighters. They're easier to pick up and less of a hassle on hunts, anyways. (He tells himself that he doesn't regret losing that first lighter his father gave him. Some days, he almost believes it.)

Then Rhonda Hurley asks him if he'd be interested in trying wax play.

Sometimes Dean can't believe he lucked out with a girl like Rhonda, who's happy and fun and fucking _loves_ sex. He's tried more things with her than any other girl he's been with, and she's always so excited when he agrees to try something else. They've had more hits than misses, and wax doesn't sound any weirder than ice, so Dean agrees.

He brings the candles, and she brings a beautiful, sterling silver Zippo with her name etched into it. She sees him staring at it and says it was a present from her dad, but she's never really had a use for it, since it won't light her tea lights without singeing them. It lights the bigger candles Dean's brought just fine, though.

When he tells her he's leaving town, she presses the Zippo into his hand with a wink and kisses his cheek.

"Don't forget me, Dean Winchester," she warns playfully, unable to keep a grin from her face.

Dean doesn't.

**◊◊◊**

Dean's digging through the glove compartment, looking for his Louisiana state police ID, when his fingers touch something soft. He frowns and tilts his maglite into the compartment better, surprised to see a small, drawstring bag. It has a weight to it that Dean doesn't expect when he pulls it out from where it got wedged in the back.

Holding the maglite between his lips, he carefully hooks his pointer fingers into the top of the bag and loosens the strings. Inside he finds a beautiful, silver lighter; it's similar to the one he still carries around, but free from all of the dings and scratches his has acquired in the past couple of years.

He pulls the lighter from the bag and flips it open, lighting it with ease. When he slides his thumb over the top to close it, he feels something etched along the side.

_To D.W. From S.W._ is written in tiny, delicate, fucking _girly_ letters.

"Dammit, _Sammy_."

Dean breathes in carefully through his nose, closing his eyes and trying to pretend that they don't sting.

**◊◊◊**

The nurse hands him a box with what is clearly trying to be a sympathetic smile, but is falling a little flat. Dean doesn't try to smile back, to ease her tension a little. His split lip makes his smile look spooky.

He dumps the box of his father's personal effects in the back of Bobby's soccer mom van, forgetting about it until Bobby comes up to him later.

"Dean, son," he says, and Dean twitches, wants to _yell_ , but Bobby's always done right by them, and he doesn't deserve that.

"Yeah?" If it comes out a little gruff, well. Dean hasn't bothered to use his voice in a few days, that's all.

"I thought you'd want to have this," Bobby says, holding out a lighter that Dean recognizes instantly. "It was in with— well, I didn't think you'd want this going into the trash."

Dean takes the lighter from Bobby's hand, numbness starting at his fingers and spreading up his arm.

"Uh, thanks, Bobby," Dean says.

Bobby gives him a halfhearted smile and turns around to go back inside the house.

Dean sits in the dirt, his back up against his broken baby and flicks the lighter open to stare into the flame.


End file.
